Some Enchanted Evening (2 of 2)
By:  Tess
E-mail: tnv099@aol.com 
acovington.home.mindspring.com/tess/index.html

Disclaimers and Headers in Part 1



Three Weeks Later


Our work is too much a part of us, so it's only natural 
that some of our off-hours time together is spent 
discussing the work.  Out of town on a case last 
week, we fell into a pattern that pleased us both. 
Dinner was spent going over the case, reviewing our 
notes and planning our strategy for the following day.  
By the time we had ordered dessert, however, we 
had silently agreed to shelve the shoptalk and spend 
a little time on our getting-to-know-you plan.

It's Saturday and we're planning on spending what 
promises to be a glorious autumn day poking around 
the countryside.  

"Come on in, Mulder," she calls as I knock on the 
door.  Fishing out my key, I let myself into her 
apartment.  She rushes past me in a blur of denim 
and white cotton as she heads into her bedroom.  "I'll 
be ready in just a minute," she promises.

She hurries back into the living room and settles 
down on one end of the sofa, tugging on her hiking 
boots and tightening the laces.  One major difference 
I've noted in Scully since we've started our little 
experiment is in her clothing.  I never even knew she 
owned a pair of jeans, let alone the fact that she 
loves to laze around the house in her most ancient 
pair - the ones with a hole in the knee - and a old 
cardigan sweater of her father's.  She is seemingly 
unaware of my contemplation of her attire as she 
pulls a pale blue sweater over her T-shirt and 
reaches for her new suede jacket.  Like donning a 
suit of armor, she used her wardrobe to protect 
herself.  As far as I knew, casual for Scully consisted 
of a pair of pressed khakis, a crisp white T-shirt and 
blazer.  The most laid-back clothing I'd ever seen her 
wear over the years were her pajamas, cut in men's 
style.  They were always a little too big for her - and 
they effectively hid the woman within.  Now, I can't 
help but wonder if she's hiding stacks of lacy bras 
and panties in her lingerie drawer.

We drive for about an hour to reach the countryside. 
Well, I'm sure that at one time it was the countryside.  
Now it's more of a village of touristy shops, art 
galleries, antique stores and restaurants.  We eat 
lunch in some trendy little cafe and spend the 
afternoon poking around the stores.  I have to drag 
Scully out of a candle shop where she spent what 
felt like hours taking hits off of jar after jar of scented 
candles.

We stop in another store that has an old-fashioned 
ice cream counter tucked in the back. I settle for a 
cup of coffee and Scully is making happy little noises 
as she licks a strawberry cone.  I stifle a groan 
behind a sip of coffee as I watch her pink tongue lap 
out over the ice cream, her straight, white teeth 
nibbling delicately on a frozen strawberry.

I shift uncomfortably on my seat and stand abruptly.  
Throwing a couple of bills onto the counter, I grab 
her by the hand and lead her out into the late 
afternoon sun.

"What's the rush?" she asks, squinting in the bright 
sunlight.  

I tip her sunglasses down from the crown of her head 
to cover her eyes and head toward the car.  "It's a 
long ride," I tell her.  She shrugs and we continue 
toward the car.

We parked near a railroad crossing.  The train 
doesn't run through this town any longer and the 
ticket station has been converted into a newsstand 
selling papers, magazines, flowers and candy.  
Scully tosses the remains of her ice cream into a 
nearby trash can and idly flips through a magazine 
while I grab the New York Times and the latest issue 
of Sports Illustrated.

"Ready?" I ask.

"Sure," she replies absently, putting the magazine 
back in the rack and turning to face me.  Her eyes 
widen as I present her with a small bunch of fall 
colored flowers.  She gives me a look of surprised 
pleasure as she takes the bouquet from my hands.

"Thank you," she says, impulsively rising up on her 
toes to brush her lips across mine.  She steps back 
and blinks uncertainly at me.  Before she can pull 
further away, I wrap my arm around her back and 
pull her close again.  I lower my head and rub my 
lips over hers, teasing until she relaxes, her hand 
coming up to curl around the back of my neck.

Her mouth is cool; her lips a little sticky from the ice 
cream and she tastes like strawberries.  Breaking 
apart, she eases back onto her heels.

"Let's go," I murmur huskily.

In the car, Scully tunes the radio to a classic rock 
station and we are content to spend the drive home 
quietly listening to the Eagles, Chicago and the 
Stones.  We're heading back to Scully's apartment 
for what she has affectionately dubbed 'movie night'.  
We each take a turn picking a video.  She says that 
a person's taste in movies can tell you a lot about 
them.  One thing I've learned is that Scully has a 
sometimes-base sense of humor.  Well, she thinks 
the Three Stooges are idiots, but no one is perfect.  
The last movie she chose was Spinal Tap.

"I've never seen it," she told me as she plucked it 
from the shelf.

I had more fun that evening watching her reaction to 
the movie than I did actually watching the fictitious 
band's on-screen antics.  Her laughter was bawdy 
and infectious and I smiled more than once as I 
watched her wipe tears of mirth from the corners of 
her eyes.

Tonight was my night to choose the movie and when 
we arrive at her apartment, I reach into the back seat 
and grab the bag from the video store.

Scully pulls a candle out of a shopping bag and sets 
it on the mantle.  She lights it and steps into the 
kitchen to make herself a cup of hot chocolate.  I 
grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and a bag 
of pretzels and we move into the living room.  She 
pulls off her boots, while I push the tape into the 
VCR.

"Field of Dreams?" she protests as she studies the 
empty box.

"Hey!  I'm giving up the World Series tonight," I 
counter and drop onto the sofa next to her.

By the time Shoeless Joe asks Ray Kinsella if he's in 
heaven, Scully has slipped under my arm and is 
resting her head against my chest.  She is quiet, 
caught up in the movie and when Ray and his father 
play a game of catch, she is surreptitiously drying 
her tears on my sweater.

She crawls onto my lap as the credits roll and the 
soaring end title of the soundtrack plays.  Settling her 
knees on either side of my thighs, she pulls my face 
to hers.  I freeze in delighted surprise at her sudden, 
yet gentle aggression.  I hesitate too long.  She 
braces her hands against my shoulders and leans 
back.  The gleam of laughter in her eyes, in which I 
had rejoiced earlier, was now dimmed with anxiety 
and wounded pride. 

I don't waste time trying to explain.  Instead, I lean 
forward and offer my lips to her again.  She smiles 
with relief and her mouth plays over mine in a series 
of nibbling kisses.  I tangle my fingers in her hair, 
trying to hold her still so that I can deepen the kiss.  
Instead, she rises up on her knees and covers my 
mouth with her own.  Her tongue slips out to tease 
mine and I taste a hint of the repressed passion that 
is Scully.

Her sighs are soft and languid.  Her fingers tremble 
as they glide over my face and throat, and her kisses 
are sweetly erotic.  She excites me more with one 
delicate caress of her small hands than any other 
lover I have ever known.

Yet her hands do not stray from my face and neck.  
She does not seek to loosen our clothing nor does 
she rub herself intimately against me.  I realize that 
she is not ready to take the leap tonight from first 
kisses to making love.  And much as she arouses 
within me a desire to make her my own, she has 
always kindled in me a fierce need to protect her.

Kissing her soundly, I regretfully push her back.  She 
slips down onto my lap and drops her head onto my 
shoulder.  My hands move in long strokes along her 
spine and I feel her muscles loosen, her body sag.

"I loved the movie," she murmurs against my throat.

"You just liked it because Kevin Costner was in it," I 
accuse.

"Well, yeah.  That helped.  But did you see the guy 
who played his father at the end?" she sighs 
theatrically.  "He was *hot*!"

I take her lips in a smacking kiss and lift her from my 
lap.  She laughs and tugs me to my feet, walking me 
to the door as I pull on my jacket.

"Goodnight," she whispers as she lifts her face to 
mine.

"Sweet dreams," I sigh against her mouth.  She 
watches me walk away and it's only as I step onto 
the elevator that I hear the snick of her door closing.  
As I walk to my car, I struggle with an ever-growing 
need not just to make love with her, but to crawl into 
her arms and never leave.


Three Weeks Later


He is waiting for me when I come home from Mass.  I 
don't even try to hide the beaming smile on my face.

"You're early."

He stands as I climb the steps and drops a quick kiss 
on my upturned lips.  He had been away for a couple 
of days, visiting his mother.  He called me when he 
got home last night and I told him to come over this 
afternoon.

"I missed you," he growls against my mouth.

After our telephone conversation, I had trouble falling 
asleep.  I couldn't wait to see Mulder.  I had missed 
him more than I knew was possible.  I decided last 
night that today would be the day.

Today, I'm cooking for Mulder.

I'm not a bad cook; I just don't have much 
opportunity to do so.  Our lifestyle lends itself to 
takeout or dinner in some diner.  When I'm at home, I 
usually go for something quick and easy - a salad or 
stir-fry; the occasional bowl of cold cereal.

So while I lay in bed trying to sleep, I decided to 
make a home cooked meal for two.  I mentally 
thumbed through my recipe box.  Chicken Kiev? I 
wondered.  Maybe duck.  I wanted to impress him.  
Finally, I hit on the perfect meal; an old recipe of my 
grandmother's.  She had raised nine children and 
had cooked to satisfy the appetite of a small army.  
Old-fashioned cooking; food that warmed the belly.  
Comfort food.

On my way home from church I stopped at the 
supermarket and now I unpacked the groceries 
under Mulder's watchful eye.

"Whatcha doing?" he asked.

I turned and leaned against the counter.  "I thought I 
would cook Sunday dinner."

He looks slightly alarmed.

"I know how to cook!" I say indignantly as I tie an 
apron over my dress.

"Oh, I didn't mean to imply that you didn't."  His voice 
is placating.  His eyes are still worried.

I grab him by the shoulders and turn him toward the 
kitchen door.  "Why don't you just go watch television 
or read the paper, or whatever it is you usually do on 
a Sunday and leave me alone for a little while."  I'm 
still a bit perturbed and I try to push him out of the 
room.

He digs his heels in and I push a little harder.

"But I usually spend my Sundays bugging you on the 
telephone," he protests as I successfully shove him 
out of my way.

I hear him muttering under his breath for a few 
minutes and then the booming voice of John Madden 
fills the room.  Good.  Football.  That should keep 
him occupied for a little while.

I catch myself humming a little as I brown cubed 
sirloin in a pot, peel and dice potatoes, chop the 
celery and carrots.  The oft-times vocal feminist in 
me is outraged at this little display of domestic bliss, 
but on some primal level I am contented by the 
notion that I am feeding my man.  I turn the flame 
down under the pot to allow the stew to simmer while 
I lay out a loaf of crusty Italian bread and put the rest 
of the groceries away.

When we finish eating, Mulder cleans up while I go 
into my bedroom to change.  I pull on my most 
comfortable jeans and a soft well-washed flannel 
shirt.  I pick up the paperback novel that I've been 
reading and flop down on the sofa.  Mulder wanders 
into the room, drying his hands on a dishtowel and 
he sinks down next to me.  He cranes his head 
around so that he can read the back cover of the 
book.

"You're reading a dirty book!" he crows.

I roll my eyes and ignore him.

"Did you get to the good parts yet?" he asks 
gleefully.

"It's a *romantic thriller* I sniff disdainfully and return 
to ignoring him. I know that Mulder quickly loses 
interest in teasing me if I don't rise to the bait and 
tonight is no different.  He slumps back against the 
cushions and flicks the television back on.

He flips through all 80 plus channels offered by my 
cable provider and doesn't stay on one for more than 
20 seconds.  A second sweep through the selections 
finally has him settling on SportsCenter.  Half a 
minute later, he yawns dramatically and lies down 
with his head on my lap.  I shift my book to rest it on 
the arm of the sofa and begin to stroke my fingers 
through his hair.  Mulder is an incredibly tactile 
person and he rolls his head against my legs as I 
lightly scratch his scalp, knead his neck muscles and 
play with his hair.  His belly is full. He is content and I 
hear his breathing even out as he drifts into sleep.  
He turns his head and drowsily nuzzles his face into 
my stomach.

I set my book down and continue softly smoothing 
my fingers through his hair, over his forehead and 
down his cheeks.  The sports announcer's voice is a 
low drone in my ear and as the shadows steal across 
the room, I am finding it more difficult to keep my 
eyes open.

I click off the television and slip out from beneath 
Mulder, easing his head onto a throw pillow.  I 
gingerly stretch out on the sofa.  Mulder mumbles 
softly and throws his arm around me.  

We sleep.

When I awaken, it is completely dark.  I peer across 
the room at the clock on the VCR.  It's after midnight.  
I should wake Mulder up and send him home or 
better yet, I should just drag him into the bedroom 
with me where we can stretch out on the bed and get 
comfortable.

Then again, I can feel every even breath that he 
takes against my back and his hand is lying warm 
and strong against my stomach.  I'm pretty damn 
comfortable right here.  I stretch a little and Mulder 
rouses behind me.

"What time is it?" he yawns.

"12:20," I tell him.

"That late?  I should get going," he groans.  

"You...you could stay here," I offer quietly.

He shakes his head no, sits up and then climbs to 
his feet, pulling me up with him.  He wraps his arms 
around me and hauls me up on my toes.

"Love you," he whispers against my hair.

I clutch him tightly.  "I love you too."

Mulder sets me back down and kisses me slowly.  
Softly.  Sweetly.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he assures me.

I let him go.


Three Weeks Later


The entire inn is decorated for the holidays.  In our 
room, a fire dances cheerily beneath a mantle 
decorated with evergreen boughs.  Through the 
window I can see hundreds of tiny white lights twined 
in the bare limbs of the trees.  I am sitting on the 
bed, shirt unbuttoned to the waist, trying to appear 
cool and calm.  I am anything but.

The bathroom door swings open and Scully steps 
out, nervously making her way toward the bed.  
When she draws near, I take her hand and pull her 
between my legs.

She is delectable, dressed in a frothy, romantic 
nightgown in the palest shade of pink.  I loosen the 
knot of the sheer robe and slide my hands inside to 
wrap around her as I stand up and draw her against 
my chest. 

We shuffle across the carpeting in an impromptu and 
lazy dance.  Without her shoes, Scully's head 
reaches only as high as my breastbone.  I bend, 
wrapping my arms around her hips, and lift her off 
the floor.  From her new, superior position, she looks 
down into my upturned face.  She rakes her fingers 
through my hair and rolls her mouth over mine.  
Moaning, I clutch her closer and turn aggressor; 
deepening our kiss, taking us both under.  

I set her back on her feet and sit on the edge of the 
bed, burying my face against her stomach. 

"You are exquisite," I assure her, falling back onto 
the bed and pulling her down on top of me.  I lift my 
head and our lips meet in another long, passionate 
kiss.  When we part, she groans and seeks my 
mouth with hers again, pressing me into the pillows.

The room is filled with the sounds of soft sighs and 
hushed tones, wet kisses and the whisper of clothes 
falling to the floor.  She slips off of me and settles her 
back against the mound of pillows at the head of the 
bed.  Her hands rest on either side of her head, 
palms up as if inviting me to clasp them.  I crawl up 
the bed and settle myself over her.  She arches, 
moving sinuously beneath me and I am lost.

I pull the pillows out from beneath her and brace my 
forearms along either side of her head, settling 
myself into the cradle of her hips.  As I move to join 
our bodies, I study her face.  When I slide deep 
within her, her smile is delighted.  Blissful.  Happy.

I drift back to awareness long minutes later.  Scully is 
sprawled over me.  Her smooth belly is pressed to 
mine.  Her breasts lay warm and soft against my 
chest and her breaths are hot and even on my neck.  
I tighten my arms around her and roll over, crushing 
her into the rumpled sheets.

She looks at me questioningly, startled by my 
sudden shift from sated exhaustion to fierce 
possessiveness.

"Happy?" I ask.

She strokes soothing fingers along my cheek and I 
turn my face to press my lips into her palm.

"Very."

I cover her mouth in a passionate kiss.

"Good.  Because now that I've found you - I'm never 
letting go."

The End

Author's Notes: Considering this is one of my all time 
favorite R&H songs, it's surprising that I haven't used 
it yet.  But I could not get a handle on how to depict 
Mulder and Scully meeting as strangers without 
writing a pre-XF story.  I hope this was successful.

I probably should have waited to post this for a few 
weeks when I am sure we will need a shot of MSR 
as S8 gets under way.

I hope that you will let me know what you thought of 
this story at:

tnv099@aol.com